Just Kiss Her Already
by allthingsdecent
Summary: A famous doctor comes to speak at PPTH. And she only has eyes for House. (A jealous Cuddy by request fic.)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Huddy Nation: Technically, this story should be a one-shot, but I haven't had enough time to finish it. There's a **_**slight**_** chance I'll be able to write late tonight. If not, I may not get to Part 2 until—gasp!—Monday.**

**That being said, I know people like to have something new to read over the weekend. So here it is. Also, please don't freak out, Cuddy fans. Always consider your source. xo, atd**

"So it's all settled," Cuddy said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "My staff is really looking forward to this."

She was in a coffee house on the Upper West Side, sitting across the table from the glamorous Dr. Monica Barston, a woman just famous enough that New Yorkers were working hard to pretend not to recognize her.

Barston had recently written a book called _Yes You Can! On the Power of Positive Healing For Both You and Your Doctor _and she was going to be giving a lecture at PPTH on Thursday. It was something of a big deal. Barston's book had been on The New York Times nonfiction best-seller list for over four months—and while she hadn't quite made it to Oprah, she had recently appeared on _The View_.

In truth, Cuddy wasn't completely sure why Barston had agreed to speak at a hospital as small as Princeton Plainsboro in the first place. But it was a real feather in her cap. The board was positively thrilled. They were rolling out the red carpet for Barston: A talk to the hospital staff during the day, then a VIP dinner that night.

Cuddy kind of thought the book was bullshit—it basically argued that the doctor and the patient could work as partners in positive visualization and healing. It was the kind of New Agey book that House openly mocked. Luckily, he hadn't attended a lecture since the time he tried to set up that old college foe of his.

"I'm particularly looking forward to meeting your famous Dr. House," Monica said.

Cuddy practically did a spit-take with her latte.

"Actually, he never comes to these things," she said, apologetically.

"Really? Not even for a New York Times bestselling author?" Monica said, with a smirk.

She was very pretty, in a fussed over sort of way. Everything about her—from her perfectly highlighted dirty blonde hair, to her perfectly tailored suits and her perfectly knotted silk scarves—seemed luxe.

Cuddy wrinkled her nose.

"House is not easily impressed."

"Half the reason I agreed to speak at a hospital as undistinguished—I mean, um, as _small_—as Princeton Plainsboro was the chance to meet Dr. House," Monica sniffed. "I know his methods are diametrically opposed to mine. I was hoping to go toe-to-toe."

"I'll ask. But I don't want you to get your hopes up. He's a bit of a loner."

"When you ask," Monica said breezily. "Be sure to show him my picture."

#####

"Not happening," House said, folding his arms like a stubborn child refusing to take his medicine.

"She asked for you specifically."

"They all do," he said.

"Her appearance is a big deal to the hospital—and to me."

"And utterly meaningless to me," House said.

"You're really not going to budge on this?"

"Have you ever known me to budge on this sort of thing—or anything for that matter?"

"And I suppose it's not even worth my time to attempt to negotiate with you?"

"Let's see," House said musingly. "No clinic duty for six. . . years. And a $500,000 dollar raise."

Cuddy scowled at him. He scowled back.

Then she turned to leave.

"God forbid you could ever just do me a favor," she said on her way out the door.

"I wouldn't want to set an unrealistic precedent!" House shouted after her.

######

A few hours later, Wilson was in House's office, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

"All set for the big Monica Barston talk tomorrow?" he said.

"You're going to that thing?" House said, in disgust.

"Going? I'm arriving early to get a good seat. And I got Cuddy to reserve me a spot at the VIP dinner."

House narrowed his eyes.

"Why? Don't tell me you actually like her moronic book."

"Couldn't care less about the book. But I'm dying to meet the author."

"Why?"

Wilson looked at House incredulously.

"Because she's gorgeous," he said.

"She is?"

"How can you not know what she looks like? She was on _The View_!"

By now, House was busily Googling her image.

"Ay caramba," he said, when he saw her.

"I told you," Wilson said.

"She looks like a dirty, dirty girl," House added, approvingly.

Wilson peered over his shoulder, looked at the picture. She was smiling demurely at the camera.

"She looks like a nice, conservative lady to me."

"Oh, she is definitely business in the front, party in the sack," House said. "I know the type."

He continued to scan the photos.

"You better save me a seat, Wilson."

"But no hitting on her," Wilson sputtered. "I saw her first."

######

"Why didn't you show me her picture?" House said, limping purposefully into Cuddy's office.

"Whose picture?" Cuddy said. But of course she knew.

"Dr. Monica Barston. If you were really trying to convince me to go, you would've shown me her photo."

"I assumed you already knew what she looked like," Cuddy said, defensively. "She's kind of famous."

"Yes, because I spend all my free time watching _The View_ and trolling the self-help aisles at the local book store."

"So now you're coming to the lecture?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," House said cheerfully. "And there was some talk of a VIP dinner?"

Cuddy clicked her tongue in mock disappointment.

"Sadly, only 14 seats at the table and they're all taken."

"But Wilson said your plus-one had to cancel—if that's what they're calling Male Escorts these days."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. She had been planning on taking Sheldon Levy, a nice guy she'd met on a dating site for educated professionals. But he had cancelled on her two days ago, due to a family emergency. (God, Wilson seriously could _not_ keep his mouth shut.)

"_You _want to be my plus one?" she said, skeptically.

"Whatever Carlos the male gigolo ..."

"Sheldon, the orthodontist," Cuddy said.

"Whatever _Sheldon _was going to do for you, I'm sure I can do better," House said, with a smirk.

"He was going to pick me up. Be on time. Act like a gentleman."

"Child's play," House said. "And after dinner?"

"He was going to drop me off."

"Is he _gay_?" House said.

"Very funny, House."

"Consider me your official neutered orthodontist," House said.

"You're sure about this?" Cuddy said.

"Sure as Sheldon."

Cuddy folded her arms.

"Okay. But behave yourself. At the lecture and the dinner."

"I will be a model employee," House said. "And a bona fide dream date."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

#######

It was standing room only at the lecture hall for Monica's talk.

She was, Cuddy had to admit, an engaging speaker. She talked about the brain-body connection and how, even the most compassionate healers sometimes forgot about the power of positive visualization. "Together, as a team with our patients, we can promote wellness," she said.

"It's one thing for the patient to visualize themselves cancer-free," she continued, as Cameron busily scribbled notes from the audience. "It's another for the doctor to visualize it as well. If the doctor doesn't believe, the patient won't either."

This was the sort of thing that usually made House burst into peals of derisive laughter—or at least start heckling. Instead, he sat right up front, next to Wilson, pretending to be rapt.

Monica seemed to recognize him from the start, because she kept directing her comments toward him during the talk.

He returned her gaze, and, after the speech, joined the staff in giving her a standing ovation.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Gimme a break," she muttered under her breath.

"Pick you up at 6:45?" House said to Cuddy, as he strode toward Dr. Barston, who was being swarmed by admirers hoping to get an autographed copy of her book.

Barston stopped signing when she saw House, warmly shook his hand, whispered something in his ear.

"I'm very interested in having you clarify your point about patient-doctor scrapbooking," Cuddy heard House say.

#####

He was, miraculously, on time to pick Cuddy up. And instead of honking rudely from the street, as she'd expected, he came to the door.

She assessed his appearance: He was wearing a dark grey suit and a red tie. It was virtually unprecedented.

"Wow, you must really like this woman," Cuddy said, straightening his tie, almost on instinct.

House looked down at her ministrations.

"What makes you so sure I wore it for her and not you?" he said, mischievously.

"Because you see me everyday—and you can't even be bothered to iron your shirt, let alone put on a suit and tie."

"Just trying to fulfill my role as arm candy. Speaking of which, you look ravishing tonight."

"Thank you," Cuddy said, suppressing a blush.

"And whose attention are _you_ trying to get this evening?" House said, leadingly.

"I. . .always try to look good," Cuddy replied.

"My point precisely," House said, opening the car door for her.

"Or so you're suggesting I dress the way I do to get _your _attention?" Cuddy snorted, once he had settled in behind the steering wheel.

"If the push-up bra fits. . ."

"But I don't need to dress nicely to get your attention, House. You'd be making lewd comments about me if I wore a potato sack."

"True. But then again, you'd manage to find a way to give the potato sack cleavage."

She shook her head, laughed.

"I was embarrassed for you earlier, by the way," she said.

"For _moi_?"

"Yes, the way you were hanging all over Monica Barston. Acting like you actually agreed with everything she said. It was a truly nauseating display."

"I'm certainly not the first man to pretend to agree with a woman to get into her. . .good graces," House said.

"I'm just not used to you being such a hypocrite. You usually say what you think, consequences be damned."

"And you're always giving me grief about that," House countered.

"So I finally found the one thing that will make you behave, huh?" Cuddy teased.

"I think we both know I can be very obedient under the right conditions," he said, side-eyeing her.

Cuddy looked down at her hands. Leave it to House to reference their one hookup when he was on his way to try to seduce another woman.

They had arrived at the restaurant.

House quickly limped over and got the door for her. Then he took her arm.

"To the ballroom, m'lady," he said.

She smiled, impressed.

"So this is what it's like to date Gregory House," she said.

"If this were a real date, we'd be having a lot more fun by now," he said.

They made eye contact. And for a second, something almost sincere coursed between them. Then they both snapped out of it.

"Try not to arch your back and hiss at Monica too conspicuously tonight," he said.

"She's a lovely woman and I have nothing but admiration for her," Cuddy said, unconvincingly.

"_Now_ who's being a hypocrite?" he said with a laugh.

######

The restaurant had seated them in a private dining room in the back. Most of the dinner party had already arrived, including Wilson, who was sitting next to Monica, hanging on her every word, looking completely besotted.

House was about to sit down next to Cuddy on the opposite end of the table when Monica spotted him.

"Oh, Dr. House, come sit with me!" she said. "I really want to finish our conversation from earlier." Then she turned to Wilson. "You don't mind scooting over a bit, do you?"

Wilson frowned slightly, but recovered.

"I'm always happy to make room for Dr. House," he said, with false cheer.

"It would be my distinct honor to sit beside you," House said, glancing apologetically at Cuddy. She rolled her eyes.

When he sat, Monica said—technically to House, but theatrically so the whole table could hear—"Let's finally take the gloves off, Dr. House. I know you can't stand my methods. Let me have it."

Again, House glanced at Cuddy. She gave a knowing smile.

"I think. . ." he hesitated for a second.

Cuddy shook her head in disappointment, as if to say, "you wuss."

"I think your book is utter fantasy," House said loudly. "It should be filed next to _The Chronicles of Narnia_ in the bookstore."

And he gave Cuddy a somewhat triumphant look.

"Finally!" Monica said. "Go on."

"Good vibes don't heal patients," House said. "Science does. Medicine. Chemistry."

"But surely you believe in the brain-body connection," Monica said.

"Do I believe in the placebo effect?" House said. "In some cases, yes. But all the positive visualization in the world isn't going to save a patient with Stage 4 lung cancer."

"But it can't hurt."

"Maybe it _can_ hurt if the doctor is so busy doodling rainbows and unicorns with his patients, he forgets to _cure _them."

The entire table—mostly board members and donors—was listening to their conversation. It was sure a hell of a lot more entertaining than talking about the latest stock report or golf score.

"There was a study," Monica started.

"Oh, here we go. . ." House said.

"Ten patients, two different doctors. One doctor actively engaged in positive visualization with his patients. One doctor didn't. Guess who cured more patients?"

"The better doctor," House said. "Also, probably the one with less sick patients."

"They had analogous cases. And the same medical training."

"Because every doctor with the same degree has the same intellect and every patient responds to treatment in the exact same way."

"I've often found with my patients. . ." Wilson started, but Monica interrupted him. Her eyes were flashing.

"Have you ever had any kind of meaningful relationship with a patient, Dr. House?'

"Meaningful relationships with patients is much more Dr. Wilson's speed," House said. "And by meaningful, I mean. . ."

"Have you ever held a patient's hand? Consoled them? Prayed for them?"

"I have _meaningfully_ saved their lives," House said. "Many times. They always seem to forgive me for not holding their hands."

"It sounds like you don't like your patients very much," Monica said.

"They're my patients. Not my BFFs," House said.

And on and on they went like this, with Monica citing studies from her book and House contradicting and mocking them. Still, Cuddy couldn't help but to notice that, instead of being put off by House's arrogance, Monica seemed to relish it. She leaned closer and closer into him as they debated, and eventually the rest of the table went back to their own discussions, including Wilson, who finally gave up trying to join the conversation.

When the dinner finally ended, everyone got up.

"Dr. House, it's been a blast sparring with you. I really want to give you a signed copy of my book. Care to join me for a drink back at the hotel?" Monica said.

Cuddy stared at her, dumbfounded. The gall of this woman. She didn't seem to even care that she was arranging a booty call in front of the entire table.

"I'd love to, but I can't," House said. "I'm Dr. Cuddy's chauffeur tonight."

"She's a big girl. I'm sure she can find another way to get home," Monica said.

"I can take you home," Wilson said to Cuddy, glumly.

"There, it's settled!" Monica said, taking House's arm.

"Gimme a second," House said. And he walked up to Cuddy, pulled her aside.

"You okay with this?" he asked, softly.

He was actually being sweet, but she found herself filled with a kind of inchoate rage toward him.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she hissed. "You're getting what you wanted, right?"

"I said I'd drive you home. If you want me to. . ."

"After hearing you spout your misanthropic views all night, I'd just as soon get a ride home with Wilson," she spat.

He squinted at her.

"Fine!" he said.

"Fine," she said back.

And he walked over to Dr. Monica Barston and helped her on with her coat.

######


	2. Chapter 2

"That was so unprofessional of him!"

Cuddy had been mopey and quiet on last night's car ride home, but at breakfast the next morning, she was apparently ready to vent her anger.

"Who?" Wilson asked, ironically.

"House! He was hanging all over her, in front of the whole table!"

"Actually, House was less the hanger and more the hangee. . ." Wilson countered.

Cuddy ignored him.

"And to go back to her hotel room with her? To get a signed copy of her book? Yeah, right. It's obvious that the book jacket isn't the only thing Monica was planning on opening for House last night."

Wilson tried to suppress a smile.

"She _did_ invite him," he said.

"So what? He has to say yes? Is it physically impossible for a man to turn down an attractive woman's offer of sex?"

She was practically stabbing her bran muffin with a butter knife.

"What are you so angry about?" Wilson asked.

Cuddy looked up from her muffin desecration.

"Who says I'm angry?" she asked.

"Um," Wilson raised his eyebrows and kind of half-gestured toward Cuddy's plate. She looked down at her handiwork, put the knife down hastily.

"I just think House's behavior was very unprofessional," she repeated.

"Let me ask you this: If _I_ had gone home with Monica Barston, would _that_ have been unprofessional?"

"Of course," Cuddy said, unconvincingly.

"And yet something tells me, we wouldn't need to read the last rites to that bran muffin right now if I had."

Cuddy glared at him.

"What are you implying Wilson?"

"You know exactly what I'm implying. You're jealous. It was kind of like you and House were on a . . .date. And then he went home with the prom queen instead of you."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. . ." Cuddy muttered, lifting her knife again.

Wilson involuntarily flinched.

"There's no shame in liking House, Cuddy," Wilson said, with a gentle smile. "Well, okay a little shame. But you'll get over it."

She scowled at him.

"Shut up, Wilson."  
######

At lunch, Wilson slid across the booth from House.

"Don't gloat," he said.

"I didn't say a word," House protested.

"Because I don't want to know."

"And I don't want to tell you," House said.

Wilson leaned toward him, shook his fists in the air.

"Aaaaah! I have to know. How was it?"

House smirked a bit.

"No comment."

"Oh God. You bastard. That good, huh?"

House shrugged.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"Not a thing," House said.

He took the bag of chips that Wilson had bought to go with his sandwich, opened it with his teeth, and dumped the contents onto his own plate.

"So how was the ride home?" House said, overly casually.

Wilson looked at him curiously for a minute, then nodded like he had just solved a puzzle.

"The ride home. . ._with Cuddy_?" he said.

"No, the ride home from your first year at summer camp. Of course, the ride home with Cuddy. Was she still, um, mad at me?"

"Not so much last night," Wilson said, choosing not to elaborate.

"Did she invite you in for a nightcap?"

"A nightcap? What are we, in a Noel Coward play?" Wilson said. "I dropped her off and we said goodnight."

House looked incredulous.

"Am I the last man alive who possesses a penis?"

Wilson folded his arms, gave House a knowing smile.

"What's that look for?" House said.

"It's just that I get it," Wilson said.

"You get what?"

"It wasn't Dr. Monica Barston you wanted to go home with last night. It was Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

House popped a chip in his mouth, then scowled at him.

"Shut up, Wilson," he said.

#####

A few hours later, Cuddy stormed into House's outer office, where he was conducting a differential with his team.

She was wielding some paperwork.

"Did you think I wasn't going to _notice_ that you had ordered this radical nerve procedure?" she barked at House.

"I thought you'd notice, see that it was the right move for the patient, and sign off on it," House said.

"But you see, that's the wrong order, House. First you grovel, then you get my permission, THEN you order your procedure."

"Oh, I sometimes get confused," House said.

He pressed his hands together in mock supplication.

"Mother, may I have my nerve biopsy, _pleeeeease_?"

Cuddy hesitated.

"Does the patient know the risks?"

House shrugged. "Doubtful," he said. "Seeing that he's in a coma."

"Did his family sign off on this?"

"More or less," House said.

"Describe the less part," Cuddy said.

"I think they were given a pamphlet," House said. Then he turned to his team: "Chase, you gave them that pamphlet, didn't you?"

Chase nodded.

"And now you're going to go into the patient's room, calmly and clearly describe the risks of the procedure and get them to formally sign off on it," Cuddy said.

House rolled his eyes.

"Cameron, go get the family to sign off," he said. "And feel free to linger. It's not like _time is of the essence_ or anything."

Cameron popped up.

"Not Cameron," Cuddy said, turning to House. "_You_ tell them."

"Me?"

"Yes House. You. The attending physician."

Cameron stood there, like a deer trapped in the headlights.

House gave Cuddy an annoyed look.

"Now why on earth would you want a _misanthrope_ like me talking to the family?"

"It'll do you some good to actually have some human interaction for a change."

"And this has nothing to do with last night?"

"What about last night?"

"I apparently offended you somehow last night so now you're getting your panties in a . . ."

"Hallway! Now!" Cuddy barked, before he could finish his sentence.

House angrily followed her into the hallway.

Cameron and Chase exchanged a nervous look.

"So am I supposed to ask for the procedure or not?" Cameron said to Chase.

"Inconclusive," Chase said.

They both looked at House and Cuddy, who were arguing fiercely in the hallway, their faces inches away from each other.

"I wish those two didn't hate each other so much. It makes for an uncomfortable work place," Cameron sighed.

Chase chuckled.

"You think that's hate?" he said. "Cameron, you're more naïve than I thought."

#####

Cuddy was on her way out of the hospital that night when she bumped into none other than Dr. Monica Barston.

"Ahhh, just the person I was hoping to see!" Monica said.

"Somehow, I doubt that," Cuddy said.

"Fair enough," Monica admitted. "But Greg is gone for the day so I was hoping you could do me a favor."

_Greg._

"What can I do for you, Monica?" Cuddy said, impatiently.

Monica reached into her oversized Fendi purse and handed Cuddy a wrapped gift—it was shaped like a book.

"Give him this," she said.

Cuddy frowned.

"What's that?"

"A signed copy of my book. It's wrapped because the inscription is for his eyes only."

"Aaaaaand. . .there goes your pretense for inviting Dr. House to your room last night. I thought an old pro like you would be better at keeping her stories straight."

"I _was_ going to give him the book. But we got distracted."

"Don't want to hear about it," Cuddy said, annoyed.

"It's not what you think."

"Don't care," Cuddy said, handing the book back to Monica. "I don't get involved in my employee's private lives."

"But don't you?"

"No!" Cuddy said.

"This particular employee's private life involves you," Monica said.

"What happened between you and Dr. House is none of my—"

"Nothing happened between us," Monica interjected.

Cuddy's heart skipped a beat. But she tried to keep her game face on.

"Again," she said curtly. "None of my business."

"Nothing happened between us because he's totally in love with you," Monica said.

Cuddy stared at her.

"I. . .I. . ."

Monica handed Cuddy back the book.

"Just do yourself a favor—do _everyone_ a favor—and give Greg this book, okay?"

#####

Here's what happened when Monica and House went back to her hotel room.

No sooner had they entered the room than she peeled off her blouse—she was wearing a black lace push-up bra—and began kissing him.

"I've been dying to do that all night," she said, with the breezy confidence of a woman who had never doubted her sexual power over men.

House let her kiss him, in a distracted sort of way.

"She has some nerve," House said out loud.

"Who?" Monica said, loosening his tie.

"Dr. Cuddy. Where does she get off being pissed at me?"

"Shhhh," Monica said, kissing his neck and starting to unbutton his shirt.

"It's not like I made her _hitchhike_ home," he grumbled, as Monica went for his belt buckle with a sultry giggle.

"Here's hoping the other parts of your anatomy are as big as your brain," she said.

House ignored her. He hadn't quite tried to stop her advances, but then again, he wasn't exactly an active participant either.

"And calling me a misanthrope!" he continued. "Like that's some sort of revelation. Like she hasn't known that about me for the past 20 years."

Monica, who had managed to get herself all hot and bothered, finally realized that she was having a party of one. House was about as engaged as a guy picking out fabric softener at the grocery store.

She sat down on the bed, in a defeated sort of way.

"So how long have you been in love with her?" she said.

"_What?_"

Finally, she had gotten his attention.

"How many of those 20 years have you been in love with Dr. Cuddy?" Monica said.

She had switched from seducer to therapist, in a matter of moments.

"I'm not. . .I. . ." Then his shoulders slumped a bit.

"About 20 of them," he admitted.

#####

Cuddy took the wrapped book into her car, stared at it for a few minutes.

Then she dialed the familiar number.

"Misanthropes Anonymous. How may I direct your call?"

"Hi House."

"Hi Cuddy."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Right now? Oh, the usual. Reading Moliere, gauging out the eyes in the PPTH brochure, contemplating man's inhumanity to his fellow man."

"Dr. Barston came by to see you," Cuddy said.

"She did, huh? She's turning into a borderline stalker."

"She dropped a copy of her book."

"And I _just_ ordered it off Amazon! Damn!"

"It has an inscription," Cuddy said.

"Oh yeah?" House said, only mildly interested. "What does it say?"

"That's the thing. I don't know. The book is wrapped."

"Wrapped? That's werid."

"That's what I thought. So I could just give it you on Monday. Or. . . I could drop it off now if you like."

"Drop it off? Like, at my apartment?"

"It was either that or Goodwill."

"I'll see you in 20 minutes," he said.

####

She was charmed when she got to the door to see that he had taken a quick shower. His hair was a bit wet and his skin was still blotchy red from the hot water.

"Hi," he said. "If I let you in, you gonna bite my head off again?"

"I didn't bite your head off," she said.

"You were practically a praying mantis," he said. But he gestured for her to come inside.

"Okay, maybe I was a little upset," she admitted, following him.

"But why?"

Normally, this would be her cue to start a fight, or a game of one-upmanship. But Monica's words were still ringing in her ear: "He's totally in love with you."

"I . . . felt like you ditched me," she said.

"I didn't ditch you. I gently handed you off. . . to my best friend."

"It hurt my feelings all the same," Cuddy said.

House sighed. He wasn't used to this much sincerity from her.

"I don't know if this even matters—and I doubt you'll believe me anyway—but nothing happened between me and Monica last night."

Cuddy nodded.

"I does matter. And I do believe you."

"You _do_?"

"Partly because I want to believe you. But mostly because Monica told me so."

"Huh," House said, folding his arms.

"She even put forth her theory why."

"Which you're now going to tell me, of course."

Cuddy braced herself a bit.

"She said that you weren't with her last night because . . .and I know this is crazy . . .but she said it was because _I'm_ the one you really wanted to be with."

"Interesting theory," House said.

"But is it true?"

He looked at her warily.

"You already know the answer to that," he said.

"No, House. I don't."

He stepped toward her. Exhaled.

"Of course, I wanted to be with you last night . . . And tonight . . . And_ all_ nights."

They both gulped at the exact same moment. Shit had just gotten real.

It was Cuddy who blinked first.

"Uh, here's the book," she said, kind of shoving it into his chest.

He looked down, frowned a bit. Then he took the book and opened it. When he read the inscription, his frown turned into a tiny chuckle.

"What does it say?" Cuddy said.

"Read it for yourself," House said, handing it to her.

She opened the book jacket and read:

**Yes You Can!**

**(So Just Kiss Her Already, You Damn Fool) **

– **M**

House gave Cuddy a somewhat sheepish shrug.

"Are you engaging in your positive visualization, Dr. House?" Cuddy said, teasingly.

He wasn't quite sure if she was messing with him or not.

"I am," he said, hopefully.

"Me too," Cuddy said, closing her eyes, a tiny smile playing at her lips.

He had never seen anything so adorable in his life.

He moved toward her, lifted her chin, and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

They both smiled.

Then he kissed her again, and her tongue slipped eagerly in his mouth.

With that, he grabbed her and his hands were under her blouse, down her pants, all over her—her every nerve ending was on fire from the sensation of his hands on her bare flesh—and their bodies became intertwined.

"I want you so bad," House breathed, tearing at her clothes.

"I want you, too," she breathed back.

He picked her up in one deft motion—who knew House could even could do that?—and carried her into the bedroom.

"No wonder that book's a bestseller," she giggled.

THE END


End file.
